by Trent Evans
His plaything.
At that moment though, she knew she would gladly be his plaything — or anything else he might demand of her.
As long as he kept working her clit.
Finally, the hood was pulled from her head and she blinked hard several times, the coolness of the air a blessed caress against her humid skin, the light bright, too intense. She cracked open one eye against the painful brilliance of the light, watching him.
He crouched before her, but he didn’t untie her. Instead, he stroked her chin, pressing his cool fingers against her cheek. She couldn’t help but nuzzle against them, so relieved that she could feel something, anything, upon her face other than the cruel embrace of that hood.
Her hair was matted to her skin, a bead of sweat running down the nape of her neck, itching madly. Her nipples came up hard before he even touched her.
She knew what was coming next.
Kosha never talked to her now — and never let her speak either. Instead, he simply smiled at her, a pure, almost boyish glee dancing in his eyes as he stroked her breasts. His hands were so gentle, the touch so wonderful that she couldn’t help but lean into it as much as her bonds allowed, her lost sighs as heartfelt as they were mortifying symbols of her surrender.
Lifting her breasts upon the back of his hands, he let let them drop, the bounce of them making his grin brighten, her blush burning upon her face once again. She looked away, unable to watch him as he fondled her, as his fingers circled, then pinched her nipples until she whined.
He leaned forward, licking them gently, back and forth, the left then the right, alternating between each nipple until she was breathing heavily again, until his ministrations had yielded yet another shameful, wanton response from her body.
Then he clamped one of her breasts in a harsh, painful grip, and sucked upon her, taking both nipple and areola into his mouth, drawing so hard upon her flesh, she moaned. The shockingly pleasurable curling and tightening began deep in her belly as he nursed at length upon her throbbing nipple. He repeated the treatment with her other breast, back and forth until her head fell back, almost continuous groans emitting through her clenched teeth, her sex flooded all over again.
More sweet torture.
Finally, he loosened her bonds and laid her upon the mat at the foot of his bed, her gaze going to the open doorway leading to the living space... where she could just see in the corner the dreaded, polished bars of her cage.
She knew that was to be her home quite soon, but until then, she would take all the pleasure she could.
Turning her over, he laid her out flat on her belly, spreading her legs, forcing her arms out to the sides. With warm, silky oil dripping from his palms, he massaged her back, those huge, strong hands kneading every muscle there until she felt like water, until her body was drowning in lassitude.
He took her buttocks in his hands, squeezing and kneading those too, making her bite into the pad to suppress her gasp, unable to keep from sighing with the pleasure of it.
It felt impossibly wonderful to have those brawny hands lifting and squeezing and caressing her bottom, his touch rapidly causing her arousal to spiral higher once again. The pleasure of it was something she knew she’d happily die experiencing.
But she tensed when he yawned her bottomcheeks very wide indeed, until it felt as if her cleft might split.
Oh no.
She stayed very still as she felt the weight of his heated gaze upon that most private part of her body, a part of her no man had ever touched — except in her most fevered of twisted dreams.
Yes, those ruthless dream men had done much more than merely touch her there.
A slippery fingertip investigated the sensitive ring of her anus, her breath catching in her throat.
Oh please, no.
He shifted his grip upon her flesh, his thick fingers of one hand keeping her buttocks well spread as he pressed a digit against that vulnerable opening.
She wanted to plead with him, but she knew any entreaty from her would fall upon deaf ears.
Besides, what would you plead, Rose? That he stop? Or that he NOT stop?
Kosha gave made a cooing, soothing sound behind her, his hand patting her hip.
Just cooperate. Be a good girl. You know you can’t stop him.
And she knew a twisted part of her didn’t want to stop him.
Pushing out, she beared down until the blunt tip of his hard finger gained purchase, with an encouraging murmur from her captor. He cooed at her again, then chuckled softly as her bottom involuntarily tightened upon the intruding digit.
He slapped her ass. It was playful, yes, but an unmistakable warning it most definitely was too.
She blew out a long breath as she willed herself to open, grunting as he pushed again, then slipped fully inside, the initial sting making her yelp before it quickly faded to a throb, the girth of him surprisingly difficult for her to accommodate as it slid through the snug clutch of her anus, pushing until his knuckle was hard against her burning opening.
Oh, God! That’s only his finger!
More sounds of encouragement came from her captor, his hand stroking her back, the fingertips playing gently within the trough of her spine.
He appeared to give her a moment to acclimate to the intrusion, then began a slow advance and retreat inside her bottom, the blush upon her face now positively lava hot.
It wasn’t until she was panting, the uncomfortable tightness beginning to transform into a dark, twisted pleasure that he drew himself from the grip of her bottom. But before he allowed her bottom to close, he did something that shocked her to her core.
His lips pressed a gentle, almost reverent kiss directly upon her anus.
“Minkala,” he murmured, his breath hot upon the inner slopes of the cleft of her bottom.
She shivered at the sound, for it was one of the few words of his language that she’d been able to learn.
It was the word he often murmured to her as he stroked her hair each night before laying her down upon her pad, the possessive lust plain in his dark, sparkling gaze.
It was the same word he uttered over and over as he fondled her heaving breasts for her after a long grueling workout, as she knelt for him, her fingers laced together in the sweaty mess of her hair behind her head, her eyes downcast, cheeks burning hot with her shame.
“Mine.”
Giving her thighs and calves the same treatment, he recharged his hands with oil each time he moved lower and lower, massaging the muscles in her legs until she was a sighing, moaning wreck.
He finished by squeezing the slot of her sex in his slippery palm, the oil dripping down until it collected in her pubic hair, slickening it, making it stick to her mound. He stroked her sex like this for long minutes until her hips were writhing, bucking as she begging him with everything but words.
No, she must never use words, for if she did she knew those mind-destroying caresses would turn quickly into agonizing punishments.
Humans use words, not pets. Not human. Not human.
It was the mantra that began to sound more and more often in her mind as he treated her like this, for her body reveled in it, drowned in it. She had come to crave it, even as her mind cried out, telling her this was his plan, this was what he wanted.
That this was wrong.
She was giving it to him inch by inch, day by day, surrendering her humanity to her captor. And her body didn’t care. Her body wanted what it wanted — pleasure, subjugation, to serve this strict, domineering male — this impossibly strong being.
To be his plaything, his sex object. His obsession.
Then he turned her onto her back, his hands dripping with oil once more. He leaned over her, staring into her eyes as he squeezed her breasts, making her pant with it, pinching, and rolling, and twisting her nipples until she groaned again. Down her body he went, tracing every plane, every muscle, every curve of her form, ensuring every last inch of her flesh dripped with the oil, just as her cunt dripped
with liquid tribute to his ministrations.
He spread her labia wide, chuckling as he looked at her inflamed, agonized sex, tapping the swollen bud of her clit with a finger, making her jerk each time he did it.
She was still so sensitive. If he tried to work her to orgasm again, it would be pure agony.
And he knew it too.
For a moment, she thought he’d still force her to do it, but instead he just patted her cunt with a knowing grin — and worked the knots out of the trembling muscles of her thighs instead.
Wiping the oil from his hands with a cloth, he stood, gazing at length at her surrendered, exhausted form. Rather than affix her leash to her collar, he picked her up, cradling her in his arms as if she were a child, the tremendous power of those muscles surrounding her, enveloping her, taking her breath away.
Kosha was so big, so strong. She knew nothing she could possibly do would ever come close to overcoming such strength, and the truth of that realization was equal parts comforting and arousing.
He strode into the bathroom, but rather than draw a bath for her as she hoped he would, he instead took her to the far corner where there was a large, closely-spaced grate in the flooring, the tile depressed below floor level forming a in a neat square in the corner. He placed her on her knees here and she looked up at him, shivering already, the tile so cold and unforgiving against her palms and her knees. Then the spray of water was played over her body and she flinched, looking away, unable to believe what he was doing.
How could he?
Then a new version of the mantra sounded in her mind.
Humans are allowed baths. Pets are not.
Thankfully, the water was warm, but still, she shivered under its caress. He increased the pressure until it was harsh against her skin, washing the oil away until she winced as it played over every inch of her body. He forced her into the Present position, her hands behind her back, her buttocks spread upon her heels, knees wide. And that merciless stream of water played back and forth over her over-sensitized pussy until she was groaning, begging him with inchoate sounds, pleading with her eyes, with her trembling, vulnerable body — but never in those forbidden words.
She met his eyes as he sprayed the water over her breasts, her captor seeming to pay particular attention to each throbbing nipple. He stared at her as he did it, as her face flamed, the degradation so deep she feared she was drowning in it.
Yes, she felt it now — perhaps more than she ever had before. She was a thing. She was his thing. Where would it go from here?
Where did she want it to go from here?
But the fact was, even as she knelt there, cooperating with being washed down like a common animal, like a beast of burden, her cunt never stopped seething, her clit as hard as ever, her heart pounding in her chest.
Though her face flamed, her desire flamed even hotter.
What was wrong with her? She was starting to forget what it was like to be normal, to be a regular girl, to be anything but the debased object for this male’s pleasure, for this male’s obsession.
He took her by the hair and turned her head up, forcing her to look up at him. In silence, he regarded her, his gaze intense, possessive… and triumphant.
Then he did something she never could have expected.
He kissed her lips.
It was but a whisper of his mouth against hers, but it was impossibly gentle. It was so shattering in its tenderness that she had no idea how to react to it.
She froze, as still as a mouse. Then it was over as fast as it began, and she was back on her hands and knees, breasts swaying below her once more.
Something had changed in that instant. That kiss, that touch — it was a signal, though she wasn’t sure what it meant yet.
He clipped the leash to her collar again, the click of the metal a humiliating and all-too-familiar sound.
What began as an unexpected date with reluctant, mind-blowing pleasure, would end with yet another crawl of shame, her head down as she was led by the dreaded leash back to the confines of her little cage.
Left to ponder what her future held.
And wondering what her owner meant by that kiss.
Chapter 17
Rose knelt in the kitchen, back straight, chin up. She no longer felt embarrassment each time she bent over for her meals, pushing her face into her bowl to eat, her arms bound behind her.
But the clean-up afterward still made her blush scarlet. She stayed very still for her owner while he wiped the shaming evidence of the food left upon her face following her feeding. The remnants had to be swept from her neck too, and there were even a few spots sticking to the upper slopes of her breasts.
He fondled her as he cleaned her, of course, something she’d become quite used to. On many days he would leave her almost panting by the time he’d finished cleaning her, squeezing and stroking her breasts, occasionally cupping her sex, driving a finger or three deep into her to test the wetness that always accompanied her humiliating treatment.
A chime sounded from somewhere in the living space, a sound she’d never heard before.
Is that a… doorbell?
Kosha gave her a quick grin, touched her cheek, his thumb stroking over the curve of her cheekbone. He pointed to the floor, a command she knew quite well.
Leaning forward instantly, she placed her forehead on the smooth tile, her hands placed to either side, hollowing her back as much as possible. Her breasts pillowed beneath her, pressed tight to the floor. She spread her legs until the tendons were taut at her inner thighs.
It was perhaps the most humiliating position he’d taught her, but what disconcerted her more than the blatant display of her naked body was the fact he’d never ordered her into such a position after feeding.
Something was different.
Then he stood, saying something in his language that signaled he was pleased. Her nipples hardened against the cold tile, and she gently rubbed them against the flat plane, hoping he wouldn’t detect the subtle movement. It was the only comforting gesture she could afford at that moment while her heart pounded and her brain raced, wondering what was to happen to her next.
She had to steal pleasure when and where she could.
Then he was gone, striding toward the cavernous living room — or whatever they called it on this alien planet. She heard the deep rumble of Kosha’s voice somewhere out in the room, and then she heard something that made her blood cool.
Another voice.
This one was slightly higher pitched, but still quite deep, a different cadence, a slight variance on the accent, though she could still not make out a single word they were saying.
Though she feared being caught, she chanced a glance from her position. She faced partially away from the entry into the kitchen, but she could see part of the living room beyond. Unlike Kosha’s familiar skintight leggings, the visitor was wearing roomier, more formal attire — clothing she’d seen before.
At that doctor’s office.
Oh shit.
Before she had time to ponder this, the two males strode into the kitchen, standing just inside the doorway. She quickly averted her eyes, staring at the tile her forehead was pressed to. She could feel her blush blooming upon her cheeks though, in her forehead heating, her embarrassment flooding down her neck.
It was the doctor — Torval.
Though it helped a tiny bit that he’d already seen her, seen everything she had to offer, it was still mortifying in the extreme.
Part of her knew that her owner must have visitors at his home at some point, but thus far, after many days, it had only been the two of them.
It was change, and usually, with her owner, change meant either humiliation or pain. Or both.
They spoke amongst themselves again and she tried to keep her muscles from trembling, struggling to maintain her rigid posture, knowing if she allowed herself to fall from position, she would be punished.
Would he punish her with a visitor there?
Deep
inside she knew the answer to that. Of course, he would. Considering what that doctor had done to her already, her incredibly mortifying “exam” still fresh in her mind as if it had happened yesterday, she had no doubt he would enjoy watching her being disciplined — whatever else it was her owner had planned for her. Was that why he was here?
The questions careened through her mind as she crouched there, wondering what it was the strange man thought, what he saw, what she’d become in his eyes too.
With her collar and cuffs and her obviously debased position, she was much different than even the frightened creature that she was when her owner first took her to the doctor’s office. That realization only added to her shame.
Then fingers twisted in the locks of her hair, the roots protesting angrily as her head was yanked up from the floor. She found herself staring into her owner’s eyes, and what she saw there was a boyish glee, a lustful anticipation. She knew what that meant.
Oh yes, she knew.
He was about to put her through her paces, and the doctor would be watching every minute of it.
Her owner’s gaze not leaving her, he affixed the shaming leash to her collar, the click of the metal loud, making her blush burn still hotter.
The doctor chuckled softly, saying something to Kosha, who looked up at him. The men spoke back and forth for a moment, then her owner stood, giving her two yanks on her leash, which meant she was to follow.
By virtue of many hard, painful lessons, she’d been trained never to let the leash go taut, never to let it drag upon the floor.
She followed the pull of that leash out to the living room, flanked by either man, the leather of the leash stroking her shoulder, a shaming reminder of her status beside the two hulking aliens.
She didn’t look where he led her, too mortified to risk meeting the gaze of either one of the males. Then, with a tug of her leash, and a familiar barked command, she sat up on her heels once more, head high, wrists clasped at the small of her back.
And at that moment, she saw where he’d led her.
Oh no.
It was the cage.
